Dystopia
by Kezzone
Summary: Human versions of the nations struggle to survive in the Hunger Games. However, there's a reason they were chosen to participate. A reason they might be better off not knowing.


A/N: Hold on, this'll be a long ride. Um, warnings. OCs will be used as necessary to help the story along. Lots of character deaths per usual. Some shippy moments, but on the whole I think they're pretty ignorable/open for interpretation. Nation names will be used. Chapters will be rather long for reasons that will soon make themselves clear. This is also unbetaed, so please alert me if you see any stupid mistakes.

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It was midday, and the forest was bathed in sunlight. The light speckled through the leaves creating a rather dazzling effect, and the red oak trees shook gently in the breeze as they towered high above the forest floor. A few birds chirped a strange melody and a squirrel could be seen weaving through the branches high above.

The year was 22XX and the world was in ruins.

A group of soldiers dressed in white jumpsuits ran underneath the majestic oaks, the futuristic weapons clutched to their chests dappled in green light. Dark masks shielded their faces from view, enhancing an already sinister sight. Their heavy boots left a trail of deep footprints in the moist forest floor. There were only about twenty of them spread out in a thin line, combing for the enemy.

They spoke across headphones inbedded in their helmets.

"Remember to report in at even the slightest sign of them," the man in the center of the stretched formation reminded. Unlike the other members of the group, there was an impressive red badge sewn on to the chestal area of his suit. "No hint is too small. If they get away now, you'll need to find a different line of work. Don't neglect caution, even if they appear unarmed. According to the reports, the man is highly experienced in several forms of hand to hand combat."

"What about the child?" One of the soldiers asked. "The picture looked harmless."

"There's suspicion that that child is a would-be convict on the run."

"What did he do?" The same soldier asked in a skeptical voice, finding it impossible to imagine the young boy with dark hair and a energetic smile to be capable of any serious crime.

"There's no proof, but they're speculating that he killed his own brother." The leader's voice was harsh, but even then a shred of audible doubt had crept in. "They found the brother's mutilated body floating in the river, and according to the autopsy he'd died the same day the other one fled. There's no other explanation."

"Is the man's backstory dispensable to?" The soldier asked curiously.

"He's an escaped avox." Avox were mute slaves created from former rebels and other troublesome characters. "We don't have any reports detailing how he managed it, but he's been on the run from the capital for three years now. I've heard rumors that he escaped by jumping out a plane and has spent the years since then traveling from district to district, evading authorities and living off handouts from misguided citizens. It'd make a good movie some day."

The soldiers took a moment to take that in, their main focus still on the mission at hand. He did sound like the hero of an old tall tale, a bandit loved by the common folk and despised by the government, an outlaw that brought a sense of long forgotten sensationalism into their hearts.

Despite this strange and unprofessional respect they were starting to develop for the fugitives, never for a second did the idea of going easy on them or letting them escape pass through the soldier's minds. They were far too indoctrinated for that, as was the policy of the Capital.

They continued to run through the forest, searching for the escapees robotically. It was almost as though they didn't expect to actually encounter the fugitives in such an unobtrusive location. Their feet made a squelching sound as they sunk into the muddy ground, and birds flew away from them, squawking indignantly.

This group of soldiers were called Peacekeepers. The country they lived in and fought for was the only remnant of human civilization. Many years ago a war more terrible than any that had come before tore across the world, killing over seven billion human beings. The few survivors gathered together in North America, the only country not rendered uninhabitable by nuclear waste and plague.

The surviving humans created a nation called Panem, which consisted of the Capital and thirteen surrounding districts. However,about two hundred years after the collapse of civilization, the districts led by District 13 rebelled against the Capital in what was later known as the Dark Days. Eventually, the capital bombed District 13 into oblivion, and the rebellion was ended. From that day onwards the Capital, fearing a second rebellion, was even more suppressive of the remaining twelve districts.

In order to keep the districts downtrodden mentally, the Capital started an annual event to showcase their power over them. This event was murder game where twenty four teenagers, one male and one female from each district, were thrown in a specially made arena, and forced to kill each other. Only one would leave alive. They called it the Hunger Games.

This had continued on for sixty four years, and no end was in sight.

"Over here!" One of the Peacekeepers called. There was a blue duffel bag laying tucked underneath some brush. The main zipper was partly undone, and some tattered clothing and preserved food could be seen peeking through. "I found some possessions."

The Peacekeeper prodded at the bag with his weapon, his face hidden by his mask. There was a clicking sound, and a picture of the bag and it's location popped up on the screen inside each of the soldier's helmets.

"They can't be far," the leader said, almost in awe at the fact that they were finally closing in on the slippery fugitives.

The Peacekeepers headed in the direction of the bag then, because it had been quickly abandoned and poorly hid. Their hadn't been a lead on this level since they nearly caught the two working on the fields of District Eleven four months ago. They were heading east towards District Five at the moment. They had stolen a land vehicle and made good progress that way, but two weeks ago it had been found abandoned and out of fuel.

"I- I see a heat signature!" A Peacekeeper called out. "Two of them. One's small. Like a child." She said with undisguised wonder.

The rest gathered around her, picking up on it as well. They raised their weapons and proceeded towards the enemy with caution.

There were a few tense minutes of silence as the Peacekeepers slowly crept forwards, preparing for fighting to break out at any moment. They formed a tentative semicircle around the heat signatures.

Then, the leader gave a command, and they all burst out of the brush, weapons at the ready.

For a second the sudden increase in light blinded them, but when their visions adjusted they saw the sight they almost feared.

Before them was a small hill shone down on like it was covered in a large spotlight. It was small and covered in short grass and the occasional flower. A small breeze ran through the clearing, and birds flew away from the sudden noise of the Peacekeepers. A few stratus clouds hung above them, but did nothing to dispel the sunlight.

On the other side of the hill was a cliff and a white water river underneath it.

The man stood halfway up the small hill. His face was covered in deep scratches and he leaned heavily on a crude cane. He wore glasses that were so cracked there was no way he could actually see out of them, and his clothes were little more than rags. Dark circles accented his icy eyes, and one hand was wrapped in dirty bandages. His patched clothing waved in the wind, and even in his sorry state he struck a rather impressive figure.

His arm rested on the shoulder of a young boy, who was scowling darkly. The boy had long dark hair that nearly reached his knees, and loose clothing that was in a far better state than the man's. His eyes were narrow, and his mouth permanently set in a frown. He had a few scratches as well, but they paled next to the man's abundant injuries. He couldn't have been older than twelve.

The twenty some Peacekeepers kept their weapons trained on the two wearily.

The leader of the Peacekeepers must have pressed a switch in his helmet, because his next words weren't restricted to the helmets. "Surrender immediately and we might spare your lives."

Slowly, the man put his hand over his mouth and made a few complex gestures, as if to say he couldn't speak. Then he raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender.

He was clearly unarmed.

Seeing this, the leader gave the command to fire. There had never been any plans to take the two back alive. His only orders were to, no matter what, return the man's body to the Capital.

However, the plan didn't go as predicted, because at that moment the boy rushed towards the leader, like a gust of wind. For a second the boy's dark eyes looked red from the reflection of the shots the leader was firing at him. He easily avoided the panicked shots, twisting out of the way like he was dancing.

In only a second he was right in front of the lead peacekeeper, and for a millisecond they were frozen there, the boy crouched predatorily before the leader and glaring up at him and the leader holding the gun right in front of the boy's forehead, his face unreadable through the mask.

The boy's hand twisted dexterously and he grabbed the weapon out of the leader's hand even as he was fired on.

The boy shot the leader in the stomach, and the leader doubled over in pain, clutching at a slowly growing bloodstain. The boy then spun around to face the other Peacekeepers, his long hair trailing behind him.

A score of shots fired all around the boy, and he was kept on his toes as he dodged them and returned fire with an unexpected familiarity with the weapon.

However, he was overwhelmed by the large number of shots fired from either direction. His scowl deepened as he tried to back up. He made a mistake then, as a shot scrapped his leg. He stumbled, and in that second he had already lost.

The boy closed his eyes, bracing for the final shot. His dark hair swung in front of him as he fell backwards, and the shots left trails of smoke and bright red flames. For a second his facial expression was for once peaceful, and he almost resembled a doll with porcelain skin and flowing robes.

The sound of tens of shots rang out all at once, and the boy landed awkwardly on his knees, barely injured.

In front of him stood the man, breathing heavily. His makeshift clutch lay abandoned on the ground. For a second no-one moved, not even the peacekeepers who had been firing seconds earlier.

Blood started to run down the man's arms and seep out of his clothing, but he still stood.

He started to move his hands to 'speak' in a language known only to the man and boy. The boy watched him; stunned, terrified, but never sad.

Then the Peacekeepers recovered from their shock and resumed fire, cutting the man short. The shot ran clean through his neck, but still the man didn't fall. The boy glanced at him once more, and in that look conveyed so many words he'd never bring himself to say, then turned and ran right past where the leader had been standing, abandoning the man to the soldiers as he had been instructed to.

The boy ran, and continued to run even as the sky turned dark and his legs numbed. Eventually, as the full moon cast an eerie light across the forest, the boy collapsed in exhaustion, his hair fanning out all around his small form.

"This... isn't over..." He whispered softly, in a language no human can speak.

Then he gave in and fell asleep, and dreamed of militaristic countries with starving citizens and an oppressive government.

Two weeks later he reached District Three. By then his legs were so sore he could barely move them and his eyes sunken even farther into his head. His robes were ripped, leaving trails of red thread through the forest that he had been too shocked to notice. In this world there are tales of messengers running for hundreds of miles, only to collapse dead upon reaching their destination. The boy didn't die, but when he collapsed in the slums of the technologically focused district, he sure looked it.

He was drifting in and out of consciousness when he saw him.

A second boy, a few years older than him, with a similar colored complexion and a dainty figure. This boy also wore red, but his were of a much tamer shade, simple clothes made for the working class. His eyes were slanted and dark, and shadows hung over his face, but there was nothing threatening about him.

The first boy smiled slightly when he saw him. Then he relaxed and gave in to sleep.

When he next awoke he was laying in a cramped shelter. The walls were made of poorly sliced wooden boards nailed together chaotically. The roof was only a curved and ridged slice of tin. Taped to the walls were a variety of adds, chosen for color instead of content. The room was lit by a collection of small candles sitting on a wax covered table.

The boy he'd seen earlier was sitting on the ground beside him, his legs crisscross and his eyes closed in meditation.

He opened one eye when he heard the boy moving.

"There's food on the counter." The boy looked until he saw a piece of board sitting on two large rocks, and a bowl of grains on top it. He had at first mistaken the board for a bench.

The boy stood, and wobbly slinked over there, his hair running across the ground. He didn't speak a word as he dug his hand into the grains and gobbled them, stopping only to catch his breath.

When he saw the way the other boy was regarding him, with a single raised eyebrow, he froze, a piece of grain stuck to his cheek.

"Hmph, were you ever taught manners?"

The boy shook his head. The piece of grain fell to the dirt floor.

"Eat slower or you'll get a stomach ache. And get over here, I'll do something about your hair. It looks nasty." The boy sounded like an exasperated mother.

The long haired boy nodded, and walked over to the older one, carrying the bowl of grains with him. He sat in front of the older boy, who shifted onto his knees to be at a better vantage point. He began to string his hands through the younger boy's hair, clicking his tongue with annoyance.

"What were you thinking growing it so much? It could get caught on something." Ironically, his hair was also rather abnormally long, falling past his shoulders if it were to be untied.

"I know," said the smaller boy, and these were the first words he'd spoken in weeks. "But I like it better this way." He said with an exaggerated pout, for once acting his age. "I used to keep it braided, but the guy I was living with couldn't style hair to save his life." He paused, somewhat melancholically. "It doesn't really matter anymore. You can cut it if you want."

"Then I will," the older boy said, as he turned around to sift through a box of odds and ends. He came back with a small pocketknife. "Hold still," he said, as he leaned forward, and carefully took a handful of black hair in his hand. "It might hurt."

The younger boy squeezed his eyes shut tight, as a huge clump of hair fell to the ground.

Seeing that, the older boy frowned. "Let's go outside. It'll be messy in here."

Soon they were relocated right outside the door of the shack, and another clump of hair was carefully chopped off.

His impromptu haircut was almost over when the boy spoke a second time. "What's your name?" His voice was soft and scratchy, but more prominently, he neglected to introduce himself.

"China." The older boy, China, said. "I live in this shack with my five younger siblings. You're lucky they weren't home. They can be very, ah, energetic."

"China, China, China," the younger boy whispered to himself, tasting the name. He then looked at the ground, which was covered in pieces of his own severed hair. "It doesn't suit you."

"Names are a very important part of a person," China said as he cut off the last long strand of the boy's dark hair. "Yet you say mine doesn't fit?"

The boy turned and faced China, and looked him right in the eyes. Their faces were uncomfortably close by any standards, but China didn't flinch. "Doesn't fit at all. Not yet." The boy said. "But as long as you call yourself that," then he grinned, and his face was nearly unrecognizable. "I'll definitely stay at your side da-ze~"

China instinctively jerked backwards, unnerved by the boy's sudden transformation. "I don't have room for any more mouths to feed."

"It's alright if you starve me a bit, I'm used to it!" He proclaimed with plastic cheer. "There was never any food at my house, and when me and that guy were traveling around, we just had to make due, you know?"

"You were traveling?" China asked with disbelief. "That's impossible. No-one's allowed to leave the District." The citizens of the districts were imprisoned by large electric fences and heavily armed Peacekeepers. It was unheard of, especially in District Three, one of the most heavily guarded ones, for someone to escape, let alone return.

The boys shrugged. "We did. I might not have been able to on my own, but that guy was..." his expression morphed into a twisted type of frown, "really despicable." He trailed off, like he had forgotten what he meant to say. He fiddled with his newly shortened hair with one hand, the other painting strange symbols in the dust.

"What 'guy' was?" China asked suspiciously.

The boy smirked in strange recollection. "I called him Panem."

Overhead a brilliant constellation of stars painted the sky, dulled only by the moon, which looked almost red that night. There was a faint rustle, caused by the wind running through the few trees inside the District. Some of the boy's severed strands of hair blew away. They'd all be gone by morning.

Seven years passed.

"This year we're doing something different! Something original! Unique! By special order of President Snow, this year there'll be no gender division in the games! Kyaa! How exciting! This year will be the best in decades!"

Japan stiffened. "What are they planning," he whispered softly.

Beside him, Korea smiled slightly. "Who knows. Panem sure is unpredictable, isn't he~" Naturally, he was lying. Actually he was rather disappointed in Panem for being so predictable this early in the game.

Japan's eyebrow twitched at Korea's personalization of the country, and Korea had to hold back a giggle when he noticed. This Japan was refreshingly easy to read compared to what he was used to. Panem had become almost stoic after everything that happened. It was so unnatural. Or maybe he was just like that around Korea.

Korea relaxed as he looked up at the glass ball that held their fates inside. Of course it doesn't, he thought, Panem's become much too sly for that. Sly, pwuh, as if. Korea could easily decipher every single thought that ran through his rival's head. Huh. Rival, was that it?

If so, it was hopelessly one-sided. Panem's rival was that person. Always had been. Korea had known that whatever bizarre relationship he had Panem had formed over the years was over the moment that person returned, and Panem was clinging to him crying, when he had never shown tears to Korea once.

That person caused so much pain for Panem, and Korea was so jealous about that. He wanted to be the person to make Panem cry like the pathetic loser he surely was. He wanted to make Panem cry, beg, cling to him, and then spit right in Panem's face and laugh.

On the stage overhead, the escort dramatically poured the two globes of small folded names together into one.

Then she gave Panem's speech, one that he always complained about because it just raised the tension and made him jittery with anticipation, "To remind the districts that there is no escape from-" Oh, is that so, Korea thought. If Panem disagrees then it can't really be true, right?

He glanced over to Japan, hoping to catch a him with a funny face. Sadly, he didn't look terrified at all. Why did he have to hold it in and ruin Korea's fun? It was so not fair. He was so going to complain to Panem when they met again, if only because Panem absolutely hated it when Japan was in danger. He wouldn't even dare bringing the subject up around China though. Unlike everyone else in the world, he didn't want China to hate him.

He always did a really bad job at that though, for whatever reason. He couldn't help it though, even though he claimed to be completely indifferent to the world he really wanted China to stay beside him. Even if everyone else were to turn against them, even if Panem were to pull another District 13 or worse, as long as China was beside him and not hurt too badly everything'd be fine.

"And the first lucky winner is-"

Korea already had a good idea who'd be called. Simple deduction. They couldn't touch the terrorists, so they'd go for their loved ones. The ones they depended on and relied on. Sorry, China, he thought.

"-China."

Korea flinched involuntarily. Beside him, Japan's expression darkened. There was a way out of this, right? He could always raise his hand like he'd been told never to do. It'd be so easy. Korea shook his head, even now, he couldn't. He could never put his life on the line so selflessly, even though he no longer cared whether he lived or died.

Not since that night on the riverbank ten years ago.

"Remember, the second tribute could be someone of either gender! Please thank President Snow for this wonderful twist." She reached into the large glass bowl. "And put your hands together for" she took a deep breath, "the second male tribute of district three. Sorry ladies, looks like this isn't your year." The female members of the tribute pool let out a deep breath.

Korea watched Japan with unfiltered amusement.

It doesn't bother him when Japan's name is called.

After all, Korea's done much worse to a sibling.

Japan didn't lose composure as he walked up the stage to join China. Korea watched Japan with glee, but couldn't bring himself to look at China for some reason. Perhaps he was more similar to his twin then he cared to admit.

Korea was lost in his own remembrances as his two he'd lived with like brothers for a very long time were shepherded away.

His vision went blurry, and he felt sick. He'd never actually killed anyone before that time on the riverbank. He could still feel his brother's neck in his hands, the cold water lapping against his knees. His baggy clothes heavy with water and he had lost a sandal in the ecstasy. It was spur of the moment, and he had had a good reason, he swears to himself, but he was just so overwhelmed that day, and before he knew it he was on the run from the Peacekeepers.

He managed to escape from the District, something he had gained talent at, and that day in the woods he found Panem. It was like he had been saved in that moment, because the thing he saw that day was all the confirmation he needed.

"I'm not insane" became something like a catchphrase to him, one he only felt sure of when close to Panem. In the early days he'd go out of his way to feel that strange security; clinging tightly to Panem's arm, pulling him along by his jacket, insist Panem carry him when he grew tired. For some reason Panem often went along with his selfish requests. He knew that Panem despised him as well, but sometimes he thought that maybe Panem needed Korea to be close by as well.

The last time Korea saw him he was covered in blood and shielding Korea with his own body while ordering him to run.

Similarly, the last glimpse Korea ever got of China was him walking away to a murder game. Korea's vision blurred again, and he started to run, chasing that disappearing affection. He slammed into crowders, and stumbled more than stepped until he had an unobstructed view of the door China and Japan had left through. He slammed to a halt, and bent over, catching his breath, his hands clenched against his knees. A stray tear hit the dusty ground.

Korea died before the Games started.


End file.
